1 INT: Derp of Aces
by Orifiel
Summary: The chronicles of the 1 INT Courier Six derping across the Mojave Wasteland. I'm so sorry. With that said, I regret nothing.


**Setting:** _Fallout: New Vegas._

**A/N:** At the risk of annihilating the short, respectable reputation I've built in the _Fallout_ fandom thus far, I have decided to move this story from my incognito profile to my main account. Please note, nothing here is meant to offend anyone. This whole premise is inspired by my playthrough with 1 Intelligence and everything that comes with it. Some words will be intentionally misspelled, some vocabulary will be misused, some parts may be difficult to read, and to be frank, I really don't know where I'm going with this.

x-x-x-x-x

**- I -**

_A month, a day, 2281._

_8:30 AM._

my head hurts.

i dont know what day it is. but the doctor guy say it might help if i right in this journel. help with what? i dont remember. i woke up maybe a hour ago. no maybe 10 minutes. 20 minutes. some time ago. doc said i was shot. like in head. it hurts but their aint no way that happen. even i know u stay dead when u get shot in the head.

and here i thought i was dumb.

* * *

_8:45 AM._

OK, so, Doc show me, where he did surgery, on my head, so never mind.

Doc also, showed me, a dictionery.

Haha, dick-shun-ary.

Sorry.

And he, showed me, a gramer book.

Grammer.

Grammar.

I, liek commas.

* * *

_Where the date on this Pip-Boi?_

OK i take it easy on commas.

Doc gave me itchy suit & a watch called a Pip-Boi to wear & told me good luck but then he walked away & came back & found me playing with tester thingy in his living room & told me to stop. I think hes mad cuz Im still here when he alredy took me to the door. But i like here. I like lotsa things. Like this porn mag i found in the closet.

Hee. Boobies.

Then he

_**[Corrections—Doc Mitchell]**_

**I provided the patient with an old Vault 21 jumpsuit and a Pip-Boy to give him a fair shot at braving the Mojave Wasteland.**

**I caught him misusing the vigor tester machine three times after the initial analysis. He achieved a consistent score of 1 in Intelligence.**

**Unfortunately, I cannot allow the patient free boarding in my home. I have done all I can within my means. This absolutely has nothing to do with the paraphernalia he has discovered in my quarters.**

_**[End Corrections—Doc Mitchell]**_

Huh? Where pages with boobies go?

* * *

_October 19, 2281._

_9:50 AM._

Sunny Smilez told me the date. I like her. She talks slowly to me so i can unner'stand shes so considrate. She must wanna make sure i dont miss anythin. Shes so nice. And she said sorry for smacking me when i touched her butt.

She took my gun away, tho, when i peeked down the barrel. But she gave me a fork to use as a weapon while we went huntin for lizards. Not sure what to do with fork, but i has it. She said to trust her so i did and she let me stab the lizards after she shot them and the dog Shy-Ann brought em over.

I r helpful.

* * *

_4:00 PM._

…There is robot named Victor talking to me. Like right now. In front of my face. He says he dug me out of grave after some guy shot me but robots creep me out. He wants to know what im writing. I draw pic of my dick bitch-slapping a robot. I just showed him.

At least he leave me alone after that.

* * *

_7:40 PM._

So today was wierd day. Goodsprings is good town with good people and with it's own problems. Like the Powder Puff Gangers. Why they called that? Is stupid name.

But things happned fast all day. I still not sure how i end up here. Last i remember i was walkin with a package and tryin to open it. Then i remember a really ugly suit with black and white squares. Then i think i died. It sucked balls.

And now i back because of nice Doc who hides boob pics in his room. Would be nicer if he shared.

People tell me to go to Primm to get answers. I will after i get used to area more. And after i spell and read more better in case i get lost and need someone to write drections. Doc said i dont need drections cuz this Pip-Boi has built in map but i aint takin no more chances.

Guess i'll go to the Prospecter Saloon and see if i can get some diner from Trudy. Then i need to find sumwhere to sleep so i get get up tomorrow and study this grammer book some more.

Grammar.

My head hurts.

x-x-x-x-x

Since he couldn't recall his real name, he went by the name "Sixteen."

Because taking his abysmal intelligence score of one and adding it to his courier number of six apparently equaled sixteen. And yet, he still shortened it to "Six," so in the end, his explanation to the Goodsprings residents—whose eyes had quickly glazed over—was really a wasted effort.

Six spent three more days in town after his recovery, traipsing about in a haze of oblivious abandon as he honed his reading comprehension and writing skills while interfering with other people's work and productivity. He garnered a combination of resentment and pity wherever he went, with only Doc Mitchell and Sunny Smiles willing to spare him more than a fleeting smile or a power-walk in the opposite direction. Victor's further efforts to chat with him were met by either awkward silences or more mechanophobic drawings, so even the robot gave him a wide berth after a while.

Six did gain a bit of a reputation as a nuisance. Crops mysteriously disappeared during the evenings when people went inside for dinner, though he claimed no knowledge of the corn husks and bare cobs dumped in a pile inside the old schoolhouse. His one-track perversion for women's assets landed him in trouble when he was caught sneaking into Sunny's and Trudy's residences on multiple occasions. Finally, several inhabitants approached him one day to politely request for him to get the hell out of Goodsprings.

He tilted his head to the side and waited half a minute before giving any indication that he comprehended what they were saying. "Like leave?"

Chet, the clerk of the general store, nodded. "Yes, Six. As in, get yer ass on the way to Primm and stop giving us grief."

Six idly stuffed a finger into one nostril, digging around as he contemplated the thought. "Not ready yet."

"Oh, yes, ya are," Easy Pete chimed in, voice hard and stern. "There ain't nothin' else for you here, kid. Now git."

As several others echoed the order, Six removed his finger from his nose and frowned. He barked a semi-coherent sentence about saying good bye to Doc Mitchell first, turning and activating his Pip-Boy to recall the location of the doctor's house. Six hadn't been kidding in his journal entry regarding his sense of direction. After almost an hour of wandering around town in circles, he strode up to an unfamiliar building and figured maybe it was his destination even though it looked nothing like a residence.

Remember, 1 INT.

Six pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"That's close enough. Who are you and what do you want with me?" a man across the room demanded.

Six bristled, more offended by the fact that this man was not Doc Mitchell rather than by the gun pointing his way. "You not—you're not old, baldy doctor with porn mags. Fuck you, I now be leaving."

"Wait, what?" The man paused and then holstered his pistol as he realized the individual he was dealing with wasn't all there in the head. "Sorry, you caught me off guard, is all. The name's Ringo."

"Your name stupid."

"…Well, what's your name?"

"Six."

"You're one to talk about stupid names," Ringo muttered, stepping closer. "If there's nothing else I can do for you, Six, I'd appreciate it if you let me be. I've got enough problems with Joe Cobb and the Powder Gangers."

The latter term drew Six's interest, and he forgot all about the townsfolk waiting for him to skedaddle as he asked, "Powder Puff Gangers? Their name stupidest of all. What they do to you?"

Ringo rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes went heavenward, as if praying for divine guidance on explaining his situation to the mentally challenged man in front of him. "Joe Cobb is a member of the Powder Gangers whom I'd love to gun down, but I get the feeling his friends will be showing up soon. So I'm hiding out in this gas station for as long as possible, just hoping the town doesn't throw me out."

Six felt a sudden surge of camaraderie with him. "Townspeople wanted to throw me out, too. Maybe I help you?"

The look of sheer dismay and alarm on Ringo's face preceded his answer. "Er… no, that's all right. I don't think I really need help—"

"Is settled, then. How do I start with help?" Six inquired, eyes alight with enthusiasm.

Ringo stared at the resolute set of his jaw before sighing. "With just the two of us, we won't have a chance against an entire gang, but if you can convince other people to help out, we might win this. And I will, of course, have the Crimson Caravan reimburse you."

"Okay. I recruit people now," Six declared, spinning around to do just that as if it was the easiest task in the world.

"H-hold on, I thought you said they wanted to throw you out, too," Ringo called after him. "What makes you think they'll agree to joining us?"

A wicked smile drifted his way. "If they say no, I stay in Goodsprings for good. Like, forever. And they have to deal with me for the rest of their lives. Scary thought, right?"

x-x-x-x-x

**A/N:** So… yup. Far from the hallmark of my standard writing, but it's kind of nice to let go once in a while as far as polishing one's prose and whatnot. I hope I've amused at least half of you reading this because I think my good name just disintegrated before my eyes. Oh well. I still love my bumbling, derpy Six.


End file.
